cave, smiling Italian face. Zoffani was also an agreeable companion. I had previously much admired two fine paintings of his at Mr. Colman's house, Soho-square-scenes from Foote's "Mayor of Garret" and "Devil on two Sticks." To this parlour at the Orange Coffeehouse I was introduced by Dr. Arnold.

In the autumn of 1781, Thomas Harris, Esq. the proprietor and manager of Covent-Garden Theatre, sent Mr. Garten, his treasurer, to me, with a wish that I would write an opera for his house. I did not take it up warmly; but soon after meeting Mr. Harris by chance in the street, he put the question closely, and got my promise that I would write an opera for Covent-Garden Theatre; but, not being prepared with any fable to build upon, I took up again one of my own, "The Banditti, or Love's Labyrinth." A few days after this interview, being in a room at the theatre with Mr. Harris and Dr. Arnold, the former said to me, "But, O'Keeffe, what am I to give you for this opera, your nights, and copyright? Dr. Arnold instantly said, "Six hundred guineas."— "Well, I will," was the prompt reply; and I stipulated to pay Dr. Arnold for composing it, 50l. on the first night, 401. more on the sixth night, and an additional 30l., should it go nine nights, making 1201, in the whole; he to have the sale of his music. I have preserved among my papers all the original law-agreements, &c. of this and many of my subsequent pieces. As I could now make my own conditions for the prime of the season, my opera by agreement was not to come out till February; but, the Covent-Garden houses getting slack, Mr. Harris strongly urged me to move my pen nimbly, and let him have it before Christmas. I worked hard, and terrified was I at the voice of the evening muffin-man at three o'clock, at having done no more that day. I lodged at this time in Titchfield-street.

It was this year that Lady Hertford (Lord Hertford was then Lord Chamberlain) asked Mr. Harris to have the "Son-in-law" acted six nights at his theatre; nor was a lady of high rank to be satisfied with his answer that the " Son-in-law" was the property of the Haymarket. Mr. Harris requested me to mention it to Mr. Colman, which I, knowing how ill he would take it, declined. Dr. Arnold, however, ventured to ask; and Mr. Colman very unwillingly complied, urging how unreasonable it was to deprive his little theatre of attraction when the heat of the weather and empty town required every pull to get an audience at all. The "Son-in-law" filled Covent-Garden those six nights, after which Lady Hertford asked for six nights of the "Agreeable Surprise." This vexed Mr. Colman exceedingly, yet he consented, when two more of the " Agreeable Surprise" were asked; and these two pieces filled Covent-Garden Theatre fourteen nights in the dull season. I made no comment; but Mr. Colman regretted to Dr. Arnold and many of his own friends, that he had not stipulated with Covent-Garden for a night for me.

The Banditti, or Love's Labyrinth," was now brought out, cast to the strength of the company. The scenes were designed by Richards, and painted by Carver. At the top of the play-bills appeared, " By the author of the Son-in-law' and Agreeable Surprise," and the names of Carolan the Irish bard, and other composers; and Mr. Harris did intend (what was quite out of rule) to have no afterpiece, he was so perfectly sure of success; when, to the surprise of every body, and the

astonishment and dismay of those concerned, it was completely condemned the first night.

The superb scenery and decorations, sweet songs and duets of Mrs. Kennedy, and Leoni, the fine Italian Jew singer, one of these to the tune of "Voorneen Deelish Elleen Oge," this beautiful air at that time only known by its Irish words, were of no saving effect. The audience seemed to take offence at lightning flashing outside of the house through the windows of a dark room, though this at rehearsals was thought a fine preparation for the tempest and horrors of the scene in the forest when the travellers are astray, and the banditti known to have issued from their cave to attack them. They also disliked the character of Agnes, a good-natured talkative old nurse, my favourite, with which in writing I had taken the greatest pains. Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, who happened to be sitting by me that night in an upper box, said, "As you see they do not like your old woman, you must contrive to give them as little of her company as you can ;" which remark determined me, if I could without hurting the plot, (had the opera gone on) to omit her altogether.

Before the curtain dropped upon my disgrace, I slipped out of the theatre, told my servant to call a coach, flung myself into it, and got to my lodgings in Titchfield-street, and in a state of confusion and utter despondency threw myself on my bed. I thought of my poor children whom I had taken from the kind and fostering care of their grandfather and grandmother Heaphy in Ireland, and the pang went to my heart. I was scarcely ten minutes in this situation when a coachman's loud rap was heard at the door, and before John could apprise me of my visitor, in bolted into the house, up stairs, and into my bedroom, Mr. Harris and Dr. Arnold, with a cheering to my sorrow and a condolence of comfort.

Mr. Harris with the greatest kindness took all the cause of the failure on himself; said that he had hurried me in the writing; that to serve the theatre I had produced the opera three months before the time agreed upon for its coming out; that he had found my reputation ́ as a dramatic author high with the public, and the temporary hurt it had suffered that night proceeded from my alacrity and industry to accommodate the theatre and oblige him. He generously added that he would keep to the letter of our agreement, and pay me every shilling of the six hundred guineas; requesting I would dismiss all trouble from my mind, and he had not a doubt but I should yet be able, with a few alterations, to render this opera successful and productive. This candid and liberal conduct needs no comment.

The next morning a messenger came from Mr. Harris. It was my old Irish friend and schoolfellow at the Drawing Academy, William Egan, who turned out from his waistcoat-pockets one hundred guineas on the table, sent to me by Mr. Harris, with a desire that I would draw without scruple on Garten, his treasurer, for such sums as I might occasionally want. My spirits were raised by this morning-visit, and the kindness of Mr. Harris spurred me to activity. In about three weeks I re-wrote the opera, the parts were distributed, and a rehearsal called; but, alas! the performers, one and all, declared that in its new state it stood a fairer chance of condemnation than before: the parts therefore were again called in; and Mr. Harris, in the kindest and most

friendly manner, insisted that I should perplex myself no more about it, but take the whole summer, and he was sure I could bring it round for his next winter. For better air and park-walks I took lodgings at Knightsbridge, where Mr. Harris often called upon me, and at his house I occasionally met several worthy patrons of the drama,-Mr. Palmer of Bath, Mr. Dives, &c.

The first time of my venturing into a theatre after my defeat, Miss Catley, the celebrated singer, accosted me from a front row in the lower boxes, loud enough, as I was many rows back, to be heard by all and every body, "So, O'Keeffe, you had a piece d-d the other night. I'm glad of it-the devil mend you for writing an opera without bringing me into it." On my second attempt, therefore, I wrote the character of a Lady Abbess for her, with a song and chorus of Nuns, to the tune of Stony Batter-so that upon reflection the unfavourable judgment of the performers, on this my second attempt, shielded me from additional disgrace. A few minutes after Miss Catley had thus accosted me, Leoni entered the box, with a lady leaning on his arm. Miss Catley, catching his eye, called out, "How do you do, Leoni? I hear you're married,-is that your wife? bid her stand up till I see her." Leoni, abashed, whispered the lady, who with good-humoured compliance stood up. Catley, after surveying her a little, said, "Ha! very well indeed. I like your choice." The audience around us seemed more diverted with this scene in the boxes than that on the stage, as Miss Catley and her oddities were well known to all. She was one of the most beautiful women I ever saw: the expression of her eyes, and the smiles and dimples that played round her lips and cheeks, enchanting. She was eccentric, but had an excellent heart. When I was about sixteen years old, I took a drawing of her in Dublin. Macklin, who had previously sat for me in his gown and cap, when at his lodgings in Drumcondra-lane, Dublin, gave me an open letter of introduction, the purport of which was, that as I had succeeded so capitally in the likeness of an ugly old fellow like himself, he wished to give my genius an opportunity of a display in a portrait of youth and beauty. She wore her hair plain over her forehead, in an even line almost to her eyebrows. This set the fashion in Dublin; and the word was with all the ladies to have their hair Catlefied. Miss Catley and her mother lived in Drumcondra-lane.

My health now got ill, from anxiety and labour of hard study, and I called in Dr. H. Saunders, who lived near Spring Gardens. He was one of the most eminent physicians of the day, and recommended to me by Mr. Colman. The doctor advised me to go to Margate, whither I went with my brother and my little son Tottenham, having placed my other child Adelaide at Mrs. Reubell's boarding-school, Lincoln's-Inn Fields.

To be continued.

ON THE CONVERSATION OF LORDS.

"An infinite deal of nothing."-SHAKSPEARE.

THE Conversation of Lords is very different from that of authors. Mounted on horseback, they stick at nothing in the chace, and clear every obstacle with flying leaps, while we poor devils have no chance of keeping up with them with our clouten shoes and long huntingpoles. They have all the benefit of education, society, confidence, they read books, purchase pictures, breed horses, learn to ride, dance, and fence, look after their estates, travel abroad :—authors have none of these advantages, or inlets of knowledge, to assist them except one, reading; and this is still more impoverished and clouded by the painful exercise of their own thoughts. The knowledge of the Great has a character of wealth and property in it, like the stores of the rich merchant or manufacturer, who lays his hands on all within his reach : the understanding of the student is like the workshop of the mechanic, who has nothing but what he himself creates. How difficult is the

production, how small the display in the one case compared to the other! Most of Correggio's designs are contained in one small room at Parma: how different from the extent and variety of some hereditary and princely collections!

The human mind has a trick (probably a very natural and consoling one) of striking a balance between the favours of wisdom and of fortune, and of making one thing a gratuitous and convenient foil to another. Whether this is owing to envy or to a love of justice, I will not say but whichever it is owing to, I must own I do not think it well founded. A scholar is without money: therefore (to make the odds even) we argue (not very wisely) that a rich man must be without ideas. This does not follow. The wish is father to that thought;" and the thought is a spurious one. We might as well pretend, that because a man has the advantage of us in height, he is not strong or in good health; or because a woman is handsome, she is not at the same time young, accomplished and well-bred. Our fastidious self-love or our rustic prejudices may revolt at the accumulation of advantages in others; but we must learn to submit to the mortifying truth, which every day's experience points out, with what grace we may. There were those who grudged to Lord Byron the name of a poet, because he was of noble birth; as he himself could not endure the praises bestowed upon Wordsworth, whom he considered as a clown. He carried this weakness so far that he even seemed to regard it as a piece of presumption in Shakspeare to be preferred before him as a dramatic author, and contended that Milton's writing an epic poem and the " Answer to Salmasius" was entirely owing to vanity-so little did he relish the superiority of the old blind school-master. So it is that one party would arrogate every advantage to themselves, while those on the other side would detract from all in their rivals that they do not themselves possess. Some will not have the statue painted: others can see no beauty in the clay-model!

The man of rank and fortune, besides his chance for the common or (now and then) an uncommon share of wit and understanding, has it in his power to avail himself of every thing that is to be taught of art and April-VOL. XVI. NO. LXIV.

2 B

science; he has tutors and valets at his beck; he may master the dead languages, he must acquire the modern ones; he moves in the highest circles, and may descend to the lowest; the paths of pleasure, of ambition, of knowledge, are open to him; he may devote himself to a particular study, or skim the cream of all; he may read books or men or things, as he finds most convenient or agreeable; he is not forced to confine his attention to some one dry uninteresting pursuit ; he has a single hobby, or half a dozen; he is not distracted by care, by poverty and want of leisure; he has every opportunity and facility afforded him for acquiring various accomplishments of body or mind, and every encouragement, from confidence and success, for making an imposing display of them; he may laugh with the gay, jest with the witty, argue with the wise; he has been in courts, in colleges and camps, is familiar with playhouses and taverns, with the riding-house and the dissecting-room, has been present at or taken part in the debates of both Houses of Parliament, was in the O. P. row, and is deep in the Fancy, understands the broadsword exercise, is a connoisseur in regimentals, plays the whole game at whist, is a tolerable proficient at backgammon, drives four in hand, skates, rows, swims, shoots; knows the different sorts of game and modes of agriculture in the different counties of England, the manufactures and commerce of the different towns, the politics of Europe, the campaigns in Spain, has the Gazette, the newspapers, and reviews at his fingers' ends, has visited the finest scenes of Nature and beheld the choicest works of Art, and is in society where he is continually hearing or talking of all these things; and yet we are surprised to find that a person so circumstanced and qualified has any ideas to communicate or words to express himself, and is not, as by patent and prescription he was bound to be, a mere well-dressed fop of fashion or a booby lord! It would be less remarkable if a poor author, who has none of this giddy range and scope of information, who pores over the page till it fades from his sight, and refines upon his style till the words stick in his throat, should be dull as a beetle and mute as a fish, instead of spontaneously pouring out a volume of wit and wisdom on every subject that can be started.

An author lives out of the world, or mixes chiefly with those of his own class; which renders him pedantic and pragmatical, or gives him a reserved, hesitating, and interdicted manner. A lord or gentlemancommoner goes into the world, and this imparts that fluency, spirit, and freshness to his conversation, which arises from the circulation of ideas and from the greater animation and excitement of unrestrained intercourse. An author's tongue is tied for want of somebody to speak to : his ideas rust and become obscured, from not being brought out in company and exposed to the gaze of instant admiration. A lord has always some one at hand on whom he can "bestow his tediousness," and grows voluble, copious, inexhaustible in consequence: his wit is polished, and the flowers of his oratory expanded by his smiling commerce with the world, like the figures in tapestry, that after being thrust into a corner and folded up in closets, are displayed on festivals and galadays. Again, the man of fashion and fortune reduces many of those arts and mysteries to practice, of which the scholar gains all his knowledge from books and vague description. Will not the rules of architecture find a readier reception and sink deeper into the mind of the